On the Run
by more-profound-bond
Summary: AU - Dean is a serial killer, soon to be on the run. Rated M for graphic content.
1. Chapter 1

"You don't need to do this, pal." He forced out, gruffly.

"I'm not your pal," Dean viciously bit back.

The man watched him, he watched him dip the blood-soaked knife into acid. He watched as Dean stared at the knife, which now dripped a pinkish liquid from the smooth silver of the blade.

Dean turned, venom in his eyes. He strode towards the man he had tied six ways from Sunday on his own dining chair. In his own dining room. In the man's own house. Dean rarely made house calls anymore, but after spotting this man on the subway that day, he had wanted it to be personal.

Dean stood in front of him, knife ready for action not even slightly shaking in his hand.

The man sat, a complete contrast to Dean. This man had his whole life in front of him, young – maybe in his early twenties. A promising job, from what Dean had made out by following him throughout the day, even the expensive suit could have given it away. The car parked outside his house, a royal blue BMW sat barely touched, Dean could tell from when it was bought and how little the tyres were worn. This man had a future. And that was what made it better for Dean. Dean was going to be the one to rip his future away, tear it, shred by shred in front of his eyes.

A grin slithered its way onto his face, laced with the anger and resentment for people, for **ordinary** people.

He sunk down, so that he was face to face with the man. He looked into his eyes, brown and tear-filled. The man had hope in his eyes, he had seen it before. The hope that maybe he could change Dean's mind, maybe he could convince him that he didn't 'need to do this'. But Dean already knew that, he didn't **need** to do this. He wanted to do this. And there wasn't a thing in the world that was going to change that.

"Please, I'm begging you. I can help you."

He let out a roar of laughter. "Help me? And how could **you** help me?" He spat out.

"I could get you help, I could help you get away, if maybe if you need to run away from something… from someone… I've got the money, anything you need. And we can keep this between us."

"So tell me this, if I needed to run. Why would I hang back to kill a random man whose name I don't even know? Huh?"

The man seemed taken aback, "well I uh- I just thought…"

"Come on!" He almost yelled. "Speak up."

"I just thought that maybe someone was making you do this, maybe you were could run away, because you don't **need **to do this."

"Yeah well you thought wrong! Nobody is making me do this," he let out a chuckle, "well nobody apart from the little guy up in here." He pointed to his head with the knife, careful not to make contact. "I'm doing this, 'cause I guess I get a thrill out of it. A hobby, or maybe more like a full time occupation."

"Please, just- please." The man tried again, the hope in his voice and eyes diminished. Nothing but pure survival now, anything to keep alive.

Dean looked down to the man's stomach, to the red stains that were only getting worse. He looked across, to his fingernails, and the same grin from before returned to his face.

He pulled at the man's hand, ignoring his feeble attempts to withdraw it. Gently he stroked the knife around the fingernails, before he pushed it underneath. An agonised scream was ignored by him as he continued, pulling off each fingernail, one by one. The acid on the knife only making it all the more unbearable. Once he had finished with the first hand, he moved onto the second. Digging the knife harder with each nail, pulling it off more roughly than the previous one.

Soon, all 10 nails were scattered across the bloody sheet that was laid down. The man was now whimpering, his screams became louder with each nail yet now he had been reduced to a lip-quivering wreck.

"Shut up. Or I'll start on the toe nails." Dean enjoyed to deny them their last emotions, their last chance to **feel**.

He pulled the knife up to his throat, looking him dead in the eyes. And before the man had a chance for his final scream, he sliced across the jugular.

Dean smiled as he now pulled up a chair from the table nearby. He sat and watched as the blood spilt out. He watched as the life drained from his face.

After staring at the corpse for almost half an hour, Dean stood up. He walked over to the body and stuck his knife through his stomach. He never used the same knife for any 2 victims, each person was a different kill, and everything would be different.

Dean then started his clear up. He wiped off any fingerprints from around the house. He cleaned the entire table with bleach and then started on the chairs, he always cleaned more items than he used, to make it appear as if this was a group killing, as if he wasn't on his own.

Once the clean-up was finished, he wrapped the dead body in a sheet of plastic. He then put the chairs back and folded up the bloody sheet the corpse had been sat on. After folding it up and placing it with the body, the room looked spotless. It was as if nothing had been touched. He picked up the body, throwing it over his shoulder as he walked out of the house to his car.

He sighed when he saw his car. His car was the only constant in his life. He moved from state to state, stayed in different motels and murdered different people. But he always had his car, he rarely even changed the license plate. He killed frequently but in small towns usually, and because each was different no links could be made. Yet his car, a sleek black 1967 Chevrolet Impala was his prized possession. Underneath the boot in the trunk was where he kept his guns and ammo, he bought knives wherever he intended to kill, but guns were always kept there as a precaution. Dean's favourite was a .45 calibre semi-automatic, with ivory handles and decorate engravings. A full magazine could be loaded at the same time as a round in the chamber, handy as another precaution, he did not intend to be caught empty handed. He piled the body in the backseat, the Impala was rare with five doors, but it made it easier to load up. He grabbed his duffle out of the trunk, ran back to wipe fingerprints off the door handles and was then on his way.

Luckily for Dean, this man he had chosen lived in a secluded neighbourhood, with houses and gardens so big that you couldn't see anybody's house for miles it seemed. It also meant the screaming was non-existent to the neighbours. He blasted classic rock as he pulled out of the house, along the neighbourhood and onto the highway. He knew a river nearby, surrounded by woods, and that was where he intended to dispose of the body. Once he reached the woods, he drove down a worn-out path, to the perfect spot. He changed his clothes, and added the bloodied ones to the plastic sheets and body.

He tied everything together in another sheet. He then walked to the river and dumped it all, he watched his last kill float along the water, running vicariously. As if it was getting away. Dean chuckled at the irony.

* * *

**So this was an idea I've had floating around in my head for a while, I guess I shouldn't be neglecting my other fics but I've had a lot of work to do and I had some free time so I wanted to get this down. It's not been edited as much as it should be, but I'll edit it and make it better before I post the next chapter.**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and please review/favourite/follow if you did, it would mean a lot to me!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.**


	2. Chapter 2

Dean looked down as he took another drag. Breathing in the toxins, shortening his life, breath by wheezy breath. He tapped away the ash with blood-stained hands and watched it hit the earthy ground. With each breath he took his relief from the kill shrunk, his calm faded slowly away.

By the end of the too short cigarette, he dropped it to the brown mud, putting it out with the tip of his scuffed up boots.

His last kill, far down the river, out of sight and very nearly out of mind, Dean began thinking about his next kill. Sitting on the hood of the Impala, he looked to his map, to figure out just where to hit next. He stood in the woods, dead centre of Amarillo, Texas. He decided to hit Oklahoma next, it had been almost 2 years since his previous 'visit'.

Immediately after deciding, he jumped off of the hood and got immediately into his Baby, as he often referred to his car, and began driving.

He pulled out of the wood's opening, and back onto the highway, itching to leave this town. After his final kill, he never stayed long.

After being on the road for about 20 minutes, he realized he was sitting with only the purr of the engine breaking the familiar silence. He often sat like this, reflecting on his time. In Texas, he had committed 5, maybe 6 murders. Each different. Each with absolutely no reasoning, besides catching the eye of an invisible killer. And Dean enjoyed that part maybe the most. These people could have gone on to become the manager of a company, to have had children and grandchildren, maybe even told the person that they loved how much they meant to them, that very day. Yet Dean ripped away the opportunities as he ripped into their skin, he tore away each bit of hope in their lives. He took sisters, sons, brothers, mothers and Dean didn't care, in fact he didn't care that he didn't care. He enjoyed every kill, he enjoyed watching their lifeless bodies go limp under his hold. And that was what kept him on the road. Kept him living this lifestyle. Credit card scams, cheap motels, diner food, he wouldn't have changed it for anything, least for a monotonous, office desk lifestyle.

The darkness filled the car with the chill of night, biting at his fingers as they clutched the wheel. After driving for almost 5 hours, Dean arrived in Enid, and stopped at the nearest motel he found.

He checked in under the alias Greg Matthews. And spent the night in a motel room, covered in hideous murky yellow wallpaper and mud stained carpet that felt like saw dust beneath your feet. The bed that squeaked with even the slightest movement felt like bouncy bricks and gave him a horrendous backache when he woke up the next morning. He got a decent 4 hour sleep and woke up, itching for his next victim.

After taking quick, hot shower that washed off any dried blood from in his fingernails and hair, and removed any last remnants from his most recent kill.

He dressed quickly and gathered his stuff back into his duffel. He left the room looking the same as when he entered it, not even 6 hours previous.

He got into the Impala and drove around the town, until he passed an aged diner. Deciding that he was hungry enough to eat, he drove into the parking lot.

Upon entering the diner, Dean noticed that it was unusually busy considering the time of day.

He looked around, noticing the outdated décor. Bright red and white walls, with different patterns everywhere you looked, with famous 80's band's posters lining them. A young man in a blinding red t-shirt stood at the ordering station, with a forced smile planted on his face. Other young people in the same uniforms whizzed around the diner, attending to different customer's orders. Dean noticed some people leaving a booth at the far right and jumped at the chance for the seat.

He got there, narrowly winning it from a family with two children. As he sat down he started browsing through the menu. Nothing looked particularly appetising to him, and just as he was about to leave, somebody clearing their throat startled him.

"Excuse me, would you mind if I sat here?" The woman asked, gesturing to the empty seat opposite him.

She was conventionally pretty, clearly very young – maybe 19. He smiled up at her and decided to stay.

"Course not, make yourself comfortable." She smiled, taking the seat. She took off her fur coat, revealing a low cut tank top underneath a cream cardigan.

"So uh- what would you recommend, I'm new in town." Dean began, starting the conversation.

"I always go for the bacon cheeseburger, I don't know what they do but it's like heaven." She giggled under her breath, feeling slight embarrassment at how she had described the burger.

"Well I'll take your word for it…."

She flashed her teeth in a wide grin, "its Alice."

He returned the smile. "Dean."

"It's nice to meet you Dean."

"And you-"Dean noticed a waiter walking by their table, "Excuse me. I'd like to order."

The waiter turned and stopped by their booth, "what would you both like?"

"We'll have two bacon cheeseburgers, a beer, and…" Dean stopped, waiting for the girl to order her own drink.

"Just a coke for me please."

"Very well, we'll see right to it." The waiter said, then turned and walked away.

Dean looked down at the menu in his hands, before folding it and putting it back in the holder. Attempting to make conversation, the girl spoke again. "So uh, what brings you to town, Dean?"

"Business mostly."

"Oh I see, what is it you do, if you don't mind me askin'."

"Customer relations." Dean chuckled to himself.

"Sounds like you get to meet a lot of people."

"Yeah, there's never a boring day, I guess." Dean smiled, looking straight into her eyes. Green like his own, vibrant and emerald, hope and flirtation surfacing in the soft glint.

"So does your… girlfriend mind you moving around all the time?"

Dean almost sighed at the cliché. "I don't have a girlfriend, makes it easier to move around."

The hope became even more prominent now, her face lighting up in anticipation. "Oh, I see. Well, I think I'd be the same if I was travelling all the time."

"And what is it you do?" Dean didn't really care for the answer, he only asked to keep her talking. Sitting in silence would probably have been worse than listening to her self-obsessed rattling.

"I work as a cashier at the local supermarket, so I guess I get to meet a lotta people like you do." She smiled wide, flashing her snow dusted teeth once more.

Just as Dean was about to reply, an incessant ringing began. The mortified look on her face gave away to Dean that it was her cell. "I'm sorry, I have to take this." She got up and walked into the ladies toilets. Dean decided that he didn't want to stay and talk to her any longer, he put money for the food - that had not even arrived - down on the table, and quickly walked from the room. In a way, it was the girl's lucky day, if they had continued to talk, it surely would not have ended well for her.

He walked through the chill of winter, pacing around town, attempting to find his next victim. Failing to find somebody he deemed suitable, Dean started to become irritable. He walked and walked, yet to no avail. He noticed a park across the road from where he was standing, figuring that it would be a good place to sit, he walked over to it.

The only bench with a free seat, was one with a middle aged lady sitting on it. She had a dog on a leash, tied around her wrist and she sat staring at the vast expanse of grass in front of her.

Dean walked up to it, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. He had started to get a headache, the irritation of not being able to find somebody suitable was wearing on him.

"You look like you could use a good night's sleep young man." Dean looked up from his hands and turned to see the lady smiling at him.

He flashed a smile back at her. "It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, I guess."

"Believe me son, a good night's sleep is the best cure. What's troubling you, if you don't mind me pesterin' you?"

"It's fine. I'm just stressed I guess, I can't find a suitable uh- person to do business with."

She smiled, concern present in her aged features. "By uh- business... you mean for your job right?"

He smiled. "Yeah. My job."

"Ah, you see I'm not 'down' with the lingo you kids use now-a-days, I wasn't sure if that was a euphemism."

Dean chuckled at her naivety. "Don't worry, it wasn't a euphemism. It's just frustrating."

"I understand that, I guess I'm lucky that I don't work anymore. Stay at home mom now."

Dean sat up straight after hearing that, he turned to face her properly, ideas forming in his mind. "So how many kids you got?"

She smiled, fondly thinking of her children Dean guessed. "3, the oldest is 19 and the youngest is 7." Dean started to smile even wider now.

"Wow, well, I wonder if maybe you could do me a favour. I'm a journalist, and I need to do an article on parenting, and well I think maybe you're my gift from God." He forced out the last words, attempting to charm her.

She looked taken aback, yet flattered. "Well I'd be honoured to dear."

"Thank you so much ma'am, you have no idea what you're doing for me." And she really didn't.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows, they make me so happy. This was kind of a filler chapter, the story will start picking up in a couple chapters but I hope you're starting to get a feel for Dean's personality in this AU. **

**I hope you enjoyed it, and please review/favourite/follow if you did, it would mean a lot to me!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.**


	3. Chapter 3

They sat listening to the soft hum of the Impala as it drove down the dirt roads.

"If you don't mind me askin' jus where abouts are we goin'?" The lady, who Dean still hadn't bothered to ask the name of, asked quietly.

"We're almost there, you'll see." Dean replied. He didn't exactly feel like talking, he was busy formulating a plan in his mind; he didn't often go into a kill blind. Each time is different, because each person is different. There are different factors Dean can take into account, and he doesn't intend on wasting them.

After 30 more minutes of driving down the seemingly endless road, the lady spoke up again. "Dean, won't you tell me where we're goin', you said we were almost there near half hour ago."

He turned to her, drawing on his most sickeningly sweet smile, "I guess I got a bit lost, we're practically there now. Honest."

"Okay sweetie, I need to be home to make supper for the kids by 6 though."

"I'll bear that in mind."

Dean turned his eyes back to the road, before smiling at the sight of the turnoff he had been waiting for. The abandoned house he remembered looked up kept, despite being without owners for years. He turned in, and pulled up to a stop, shutting off the engine.

"Wait here a sec, I just need my duffel bag with my camera and stuff." She smiled in response.

Dean took the keys from the ignition, putting them in his pocket as he got out of the Impala. He walked around to the trunk, putting in his semi-automatic, 6 pack of knives he'd bought earlier that day, a needle and syringe, 2 litre bottle of water, and some other things he decided he'd need. He grabbed his duffel and slung it around his shoulder, before walking around to the side the lady was sitting. He opened the door, smiling as she got out.

They walked, the lady behind Dean, up to the front door of the house. Dean pushed it open with relatively no force. He walked in, and turned around to see the lady looking around cautiously.

"If you're a journalist, why do we need to be in the middle of nowhere to film…?"

"I find that filming it is the best way for me to remember expressions and feelings and so on, and the best way for people to focus on the questions, and give honest answers is for there to be no distractions, and there's nowhere with less distractions than the woods." He smiled, attempting to convince her.

She slightly relaxed her shoulders and let out a breath, walking in with less hesitation now.

Dean pulled two chairs out, facing them in front of each other. He placed them perpendicular to the table where his duffel now sat, his chair was the one facing it. He sat down, facing the table and gestured for her to do the same.

She did so with ease now, clearly feeling more comfortable. Yet an inquisitive look hit her face again. "Where's the camera?"

"Well, I like to get to know the people I interview first, just so I can get a sense of what questions are suitable to ask, etcetera etcetera."

"Ah I see, well, shoot." Dean smiled at her phrasing.

"Well first off, what's your name?"

"I'm Susan."

"Lovely name. How old were you when you had your first child?"

She smiled, counting on her fingers. "I was around 26 I think."

"And your youngest?"

"Uh," she began to count on her fingers again. "38."

"I see. And are you married?"

"Yes I am. My husband is called Nick, and we've been married 23 years."

"Wow I can't imagine it. I'm single." Dean chuckled.

"You'll find her someday, kid." He nodded, smiling.

"Okay, well, I think I know enough to start filming the interview now. Let me just get my stuff out of the bag."

He walked behind her keeping his body in the way of her vision, and rummaged through his duffel, picking up the bat he had placed in there. He turned just as she did, allowing him to see the realisation smear across her face, and the pure, transparent fear settle in her hazel eyes. And before she could react, the bat made contact with her head hitting the temple and causing her to fall from the chair. Dean knew the unconsciousness wouldn't last long and that he needed to act quickly.

He hurriedly got a plastic sheet from his duffel and placed it under the chair, then proceeded to place the unconscious woman back on the chair and tying her hands and feet. After, Dean began preparing the instruments for her death, knowing she would resume consciousness quickly, yet she would slip back under even sooner.

He waited, until eventually the woman's eyes fluttered open. Confusion now replaced the previous terror. She attempted to move her hand, yet to no avail as she found it stuck behind her. The fear began to seep through once more and Dean chuckled. The sound forced her eyes to shoot up to where he was sitting and waiting with a syringe in his hand, full of a clear liquid that she uselessly hoped would be water.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Dean roared with laughter at the idiotic question. "What does it look like?" He snarled.

"I don't- I don't know but whatever it is, you don't need-"

"Yeah yeah, 'I don't need to do this', 'if I let you go you won't breathe a word to anybody,'" he mimicked, using air quotations. "I've heard it all before lady, and do you think I listened to any of the others? Besides, if I let you go, chances are you're dead before you reach the hospital. That dizziness you feel, the nausea, and drowsiness? That's not just a concussion, from the look of your enlarged pupil I'd say you've got epidural hematoma. You've not got long before you slip under again, so let's get this show on the road, huh?" Another sickening grin flashed across his face, baring his straight, snow-white teeth.

She pressed her back into the chair, trying to stay as far away from him as she could, and working her wrists attempting to loosen the rope. He walked towards her, bending down so they were face to face.

"You're sick. Please, what about my children, I have family. Please."

"What do you think made me choose you? Your dazzling looks? No, you're a woman who cares for her family, they'd be lost without her. And that's what they're going to be. Lost." He growled in her face. As he spoke, tears started forming in the corners of her eyes. Despite the confusion from the head trauma, she was still aware enough to realise what was going to happen to her.

And just as he spoke the last word, he jabbed the needle into her left arm, leaving the battery acid to flow through her entire body before reaching her heart. She screamed with pain, as if venom had been unleashed through her veins. Her blood flowing hot and thick, pumping around faster as her heart beat faster. She looked Dean in the eyes, and he felt no remorse. He saw her pain and felt no natural impulse to help her, no regret, and no sorrow.

He sat back in his chair as he let the acid flow through her, watching as she writhed in her chair. Eventually she began coughing blood, thick and bubbling blood. He decided to end it before she passed out. He went back to his duffel, searching for what he wanted. Once he found it, he clasped his hand around the smooth metal, the cold contrasting his skin. He picked it up and kneeled in front of where she sat.

He pointed his gun right between her eyes, as they drooped. Fighting to keep her eyes open, he pulled the trigger and watched them snap shut. Life immediately lost.

He chuckled to himself, thinking of her family waiting. Waiting for their mum to return, for his wife to come home from her walk in the park. They'd be waiting for her to come home till they died.

* * *

After cleaning up after himself, he walked back to the Impala, dirt layered on his hands and under his fingernails. He got water from the trunk, washing off the mud and blood.

Once inside the Impala, he sat for a while thinking about the kill. Thinking about her last words, her family. Family.

Suddenly a thought struck Dean, Texas was the state next to Kansas, where Lawrence was situated. The town where he grew up. The town where his family still lived. And after that thought, Dean knew where he was hitting next.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows, they make me so happy. So I guess you know what's coming in the next couple of chapters. I'm excited to write it all. Sorry for neglecting this fic and my other couple of fics, for anyone still sticking with them, thank you so much!**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and please review/favourite/follow if you did, it would mean a lot to me!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters.**


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